Francis
by Kiliko
Summary: Something happens to F-Stop that will change his life forever. But it isn't going to be pleasant. Keep in mind that, in this story, the Big Bang never happened. Rated T for gang violence. I found the beginning of a sixth chapter on my flash drive, so I included it in the resubmitted chapter. I think the new addition makes it better than it was.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock

Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock.

Dakota High saw Francis Stone as a bully, and nothing else. The teachers were afraid of him, and naturally, all of the kids were too. Now this isn't to say that there wasn't good reason-aside from having a quick temper and his own gang, Francis was taller than everyone else was, and stronger too.

However, there was more to him than what everyone else saw. He knew he wasn't by any means stupid. He could stay out and party all night, prowl the streets after school, and slack off in class-and he still made Bs and Cs and the occasional A. He wasn't too bad looking, either-though most of the girls (minus the desperate ones) avoided him because of his attitude. He was good at drawing-he knew this because he spent most of his time in class doodling-and he could carry a tune pretty well for someone his size.

But Francis (F-Stop was what he was commonly known as) felt he didn't need anyone to know all that. He wanted to be known as the baddest (shut yo mouth!) in town, the worst bully that Dakota High had ever seen. He didn't know nor care that something that was going to change him for good-and it sure wasn't going to be pleasant. But did he want (need!) to be feared-and there was a good reason why.

But nobody needed to know that either.

What do you think is going to happen to him? What do you think happened that made him need to be feared? Review and tell me!


	2. No More Mr Nice Guy

Fifteen-year old Francis lay on his bed, tears in his eyes, trembling madly. It _couldn't_ be, it just couldn't. She was alive just this morning. Just last night they lay on the roof, talking about this and that, making plans. They were going to marry someday, and they were going to get out of this bum city. It was their destiny.

Now she was gone. Poof. And no one in his house was crying. They didn't care. No one cared, but him. It made him sick, how someone could pull a trigger with no thought in the matter except for getting back someone who had done them wrong. If they missed, if they took the life of someone who deserved to live, they didn't care. So and so shouldn't have messed around with them in the first place. It was their fault; they knew what they were getting into. Francis remembered the first time he'd saw the guy's face. He hadn't even really done anything wrong; he was only defending her honor. He didn't like people messing with his girl like that. And he remembered the motion the dude had made: one hand held like a gun, pointing it first at his girlfriend, then at Francis himself. The gesture terrified him, but he didn't let her know. Men don't display their fear to anyone. He thought it was a mere threat, that he wasn't for real. Now, as he lay in bed, it was more real than anything could ever be.

Melinda, that was her name. Melinda Flint. They always joked that when they married, their notice in the paper would read Flint-Stone. _I do, I do, but who's going to walk Dino?_ Their favorite joke always made him smile. Now all he could do was cry. She was changing him. He was really rough when they met. But she saw the Francis no one else knew and brought him to the surface. Francis hated his name. It was always an extremely feminine sounding name to him. But when she said it to him, whether shouting to get his attention or whispering it delicately in his ear, it always made him feel manly and strong. He loved her more, he felt than her parents, even. They were soul mates, made for each other. Even in their freshman year, they knew this. Even now, he still wore their promise ring. He stared at the sparkling green stone set in the ring, the same color as her eyes. Her eyes were beautiful, much more impressive than his steel gray ones. Yet she used to say she could stare into them all day. He didn't quite understand why, but he could definitely say the same for her. He wondered how they looked now. Still green, but cold and lifeless. They'd never sparkle for him again.

It wasn't fair. She didn't do anything to anybody. She was a Christian. She wanted to be a model, he believed in her wholeheartedly. She was definitely pretty enough. She loved to practice her walk in front of him, her face set, one foot in front of the other. Strutting down an invisible runway, she got to the end and stopped. She'd whip her head around swinging her long, thick, bright auburn hair. She'd look so serious, until she would look at him and they'd both roll on the floor laughing. And then they would kiss.

That's what they were doing today. Walking home from school, talking. They were in the middle of a kiss when they heard a gun click. He turned to see the same guy, pointing the gun. They ran, their footsteps matching the rhythm of the gunshots echoing behind them. He was okay, but she wasn't. He'd thought that she was unconscious, until he saw the blood. Still he begged her to awake and kiss him like she'd been doing before. She didn't. He'd called 911 but they'd just called…they couldn't save her. She was gone, she'd left him, and his soul had left with her. They'd pay. They would _all_ pay. The world caused him pain; he'd do the same. They would learn that lesson. No one would ever mess with him again. He'd take no mess from anyone, no matter their shape or size. That was the day Francis lost his mind.

The next day he dressed differently. Sagging pants, a red shirt and a sweatshirt (he still had to stay warm, after all.) He spiked his hair, separating the blonde streaks from his fiery red hair. The way he arranged it looked like flames, smoldering on top of his head. He looked at his bare chin. He'd have to grow some facial hair. No problem, all things come with time. He was a new Francis, born again. As a matter of fact, he wasn't even Francis Stone anymore. He'd died with his Melinda.

He was "F-Stop".


	3. A Typical Day

**Just to clarify things, I don't own Static Shock. If I did, they wouldn't have taken it off the air.**

**I named F-Stop's gangbangers. Ricky is the one with the red glasses and dreads, Luke has the green jacket and doo rag, and Deon is the black dude.**

The last few days were nothing short of fun. Francis was cruising the hallways 1st period, as usual, when he spotted Frieda Goren. She was a piece of work, that girl. Hurricane Frieda they called her, and he didn't need to be a genius to figure out why. Still, he liked her. He liked her drive and her craziness, and she was cute, too. She had green eyes, just like the ones Melinda had. As a matter of fact, she had but one flaw-she hated his guts. But then he didn't really care about that part. She was talking to Virgil Hawkins, some scrawny freshman kid. Francis didn't really know him, but it didn't matter. Someday he was going catch a handful of his dreads and pull. He loved kids who came with handles. He caught a bit of their underclassman chatter as he got closer.

"…I was wondering if you would do me the honor-" **Snore**_**.**_

"Hey, Frieda, looking good!" They both turned to look at him as he shoved Virgil roughly out of the way. He caught a whiff of her even as she was stepping backwards. "You smell good, too." She backed up against a row of lockers, watching him warily. Someone tapped on his shoulder. It was that Hawkins kid. Apparently, he had something important to say.

"Hey F-Stop, you need to brush up on Body Language 101. Hers' says "Not in this lifetime."

Or not.

Who asked _him _anything, anyway? Virgil was flying across the hallway before Francis could stop himself. "Let's see if _you _can understand what my fist is saying." But at that very moment someone grabbed his wrist, and next thing he knew, he was the one flying down the hallway. Didn't even get _one _shot in. Could've let him pull his hair, at least.

Yo, I _know _you're not messing with my man Virgil, _Francis._" Francis hated when people said his name. But he wasn't going to tangle with Wade. He wouldn't admit to being afraid of him, but he wasn't stupid, either. "Aw, naw, Wade, we were just playing."

Behind Wade, Virgil climbed unsteadily to him his feet. Frieda handed him his cap back as Wade stared down at him, making sure he didn't try anything. But not even Wade could watch him all the time. He was bound to catch him at some time when Wade wasn't around, and then…POW!

"Catch _you_ later Virgil." Unfortunately for Virgil, F-Stop happened to know Virgil's way home. He would catch him then.

* * *

Francis was hanging around in front of the coffee shop when he saw Virgil coming up the sidewalk. Go time. He was looking down, apparently in thought, but when he saw Francis leaning against the streetlight, he froze. Francis headed toward him. Business as usual. Virgil turned and ran, but Luke was standing at the end of the sidewalk. He could have run across the street if he'd have just thought about it, but he ran down the alley, just like Francis wanted him to. Stupid kid. He had Ricky and Deon posted at both ends. Nothing was going to spoil his fun this time. He sent Ricky to watch for Wade. "I'm pickin' up where I left off, chump." Virgil struggled in vain against Luke and Deon as he came closer, but seeing that he couldn't free himself, he sighed and looked up at Francis. "Couldn't we do this later, fellas? A beatdown just doesn't feel right without lockers and dim school lighting." Virgil was _always_ joking. If he wasn't so peeved, Francis might've found that line funny. As it was, however, it only strengthened his resolve.

"Virgil the jokester. Laugh at _this_, funnyman." He proceeded to do his business, relishing Virgil's cries of pain. _I should do this more often, _he thought. _Oh wait-I do!_

His fun and games was over all too quickly. Next thing he knew, Ricky's voice came from farther up the alley. "Yo, F-Stop! Wade and his homey are headed our way!" Crap. He'd have to finish later. One last shot wouldn't hurt, though. Better make it a good one. Betcha Virgil's pops was going to _love_ what he was going to do to his son's pretty little face.

_**POW!**_

Luke and Deon let go and Virgil fell forward onto his newly rearranged face. His work done (for now) Francis stepped over him and was going to leave. But then Virgil might think he was done with him. He turned with a wicked grin on his face. "You'll be seeing more of me, Virg. Believe that." His work _really_ done, Francis had to leave. There was going to be a huge weekend party tonight, and he was going to be there. He had to get some sleep.

* * *

Unclipping his house key from his belt, Francis entered his house. His mother and younger sister were already home, playing a board game. Neither one of them paid much attention to him, other than his mom looking up when he walked in. Francis headed upstairs to his room, which was an unholy mess, as usual. But Francis didn't mind the chaos, it helped him think. He shoved a pile of clothes off his bed, kicked off his shoes and pants, crawled under the covers, and was knocked out in no time flat.

He was awakened by his cell phone ringing; it was Ricky. "Man, where are you? You don't want to miss the party, do you?" Francis dressed quickly and was out the door before he had finished talking. The party was in someone's house; who's he didn't know nor care. He cared that everyone was dancing and the music was loud and that he could see his favorite girl from across the room, dancing by herself. Shame she was lonely. "Oh, DeeDee, I see you!" The petite Asian girl wasn't exactly his girlfriend. He only saw her in places like this. But he definitely had something for her. She made her way through the throngs of dancing people and they got down to business. In the back of his mind, he wondered if later they'd find their way out of this place and do a different dance. Then again, she said she wasn't that kind of girl. As of yet, he still didn't believe her.

By the time Francis left the party, there was almost no one there and he was more than tipsy. He didn't even know how he got home. The music from the party was still in his head, and he sang loudly and off-key as he stumbled drunkenly down the sidewalk toward home. He jabbed the key into the lock, having to try several times before he got it in, and then he ran into the door before he could open it. His mother was standing only a few feet in front the door in her house slippers, scowling.

"I thought you said you'd be back at 11." "I said I'd be back later…" he started, but she cut him off. "No, this isn't later! If you came back at all, you'd be back later!" She stared peevishly at him, waiting for an explanation, but she wasn't going to get one. He only wanted to go to bed. He sighed. "Whatever, Ma." he said, slurring his words a little. Her brows furrowed and she stepped closer, her glare intensifying as she spoke. "Are you drunk?" she asked in a deadly whisper. Francis laughed as he wobbled past her. "Maybe…" he chuckled as he bumped into the wall. She stalked up to him, hissing. "Just like your no good father…" He ignored her, knowing she didn't mean it. His parents got along quite well for a divorced couple and his father was currently doing very well for himself in California. The only beef they had with him, in fact, was that he always promised to visit. He had never come through. "Listen," she growled to him through clenched teeth, "you are _this close_ to being out of here. I've had it with you! I've had it up to here." She held her hand up to her forehead. But there was still about an inch to go to the top of her head, so she hadn't had it with him _completely_. Francis's stomach lurched violently, and he covered his mouth. "Oh, no you don't. I just had this floor cleaned." She steered him by the back of his neck into the bathroom . "Taste the fruits of your nonsense." She slammed the bathroom door. Francis did as he was told. Then he dragged himself up the stairs and flopped into bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Wow…I think this is the longest chapter I have ever written. Ooh, Francis drinks? Naughtiness.

How is this story doing so far? Seriously, I need some help. Love it or hate it? Tell me, and don't forget to check out my new story, _Quenching The Fire!_


	4. The Morning After

When he awoke the next morning, Francis had a horrific headache. His memory of the previous night was foggy, and his throat burned. And to top it all off, he was also really nauseous. He managed to make it to the bathroom. His sister, Tamara, came in to use the bathroom, but seeing the toilet was occupied, proceeded to watch him with an amused expression on her face. "Boy, you just gotta love the morning after, huh? How's that hangover coming?"

He managed to stop throwing up long enough to try to silence her. She spoke loudly, which made his already throbbing head feel as though it was about to explode. This, in turn, made his stomach feel worse. Thus, he wasn't making much headway in shutting her up. "Please, could you just like…" He couldn't finish, so he made a gesture toward the door. She got the picture but still didn't move. "Oh, you want me to leave, don't you?" she said loudly. Francis groaned in reply. Tamara snickered and left the bathroom, slamming the door as she did so.

_I'll never drink again, _he thought, knowing that it was a lie. So, now that his morning was ruined, there was no point in being in a hurry for anything. When he found himself able to lift his head out of the toilet, he got up, brushed his teeth, and went back to bed. When he woke up again, the house was empty. Stomach still churning ominously, Francis headed downstairs, where he found a note that his mother and sister had gone to bible study. At least she'd given up trying to make him go. He'd given up on religion a long time ago. It couldn't save _her_, what good was it to him? Plopping down on the battered couch, he turned on the TV and tried hard to do anything but think, but a stream of memories and images forced their way into his head. A pair of sparkling green eyes rose in his mind, to sink and be replaced by clumps of red hair in a sink, and a white-coated woman sticking a tube in his arm, a black Taurus speeding out of a driveway, with a small red-haired boy chasing it, the same boy cowering in fear as a man bore down on him, a wicked smile on his face-

Francis twitched involuntarily as he snapped out his reverie. Hot tears were seeping down his face, he scrubbed them away angrily with the back of a hand. He felt frustrated and embarrassed, though there was no one there, and he looked up to the tv screen, hoping to distract himself, but he saw only credits rolling on the screen and wondered how long he'd been sitting there. He looked up the clock on the wall. He'd been sitting there doing nothing for almost 15 minutes. Sighing, he turned the TV off, pulled on his worn sneakers, and left the house, setting off down the road to nowhere in particular.

* * *

Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I just haven't had any time, don't lynch me!


	5. Meanwhile

**I don't own Static Shock. If I did, they wouldn't have taken it off the air.**

_Meanwhile…_

Francis's mother and sister stayed late after the bible study. She had put up with her son for some time, but lately he was beginning to wear on her. He was beginning to remind her of her ex-husband…

When she had married him, he wasn't a Christian. She knew that she shouldn't have done it, but she loved him so much, she thought she could change him. But she couldn't, and the little differences between them, plus their early problems, were what eventually put their marriage on the road to Antarctica. His anger problems drove them to fight continually. He started staying out late, became an alcoholic, and 6 years and 2 kids later, he simply quit. Now Francis was starting to follow the same pattern, and she feared that, sooner or later, he'd leave her too-or worse.

That was why she'd stayed late. She'd been praying for him for years, but now she was looking for extra help. Every time she got a chance, she enlisted the help of her church friends to pray for her son, but lately things had just gotten worse. Nevertheless, she knew God heard her. She just prayed that his will was to save her son. She'd tried to do it herself, but he tuned her out when she tried to talk to him, resisted all offers of hers to go to bible study, and on the few times she had managed to get him to come to church, he wouldn't dress up, then sit in the back with headphones in until it was time to leave, then walk out, and she wouldn't see him again for hours. She'd just about given up on him, prayer was her last resort. And it didn't look like that was working either.

She knew that he was in a gang, and he was a vicious bully, that he slept around, that he drank (last night had proved that) and she suspected that he had a gun, though she had yet to find it. About the only things she knew he didn't do was drugs, and with alcohol already in the picture, she figured that it was only a matter of time. She'd tried to kick him out before, but he would just come back. She tried to keep him in the house, and he would sneak out. Any measure of control she tried to exercise over him he would defy, yet he never directly disrespected her. It drove her crazy, yet she was powerless to do anything about it. All was left to her was prayer. She prayed that it would work.

But what she didn't know that her prayer was working, that it was slowly taking effect. It wouldn't happen in the way she had hoped or prayed for, but it would happen…and soon.

* * *

In the meantime, at the Hawkins' house, things weren't going too much better. Virgil had called Wade the night before about the whole gang situation. Wade had agreed to let him out, after a good amount of pleading, but only, Wade had said, because he liked him. He'd also let Virgil know not to depend on him for any more favors. Virgil was relieved at the fact that he was no longer a gangbanger, but was terrified at the fact that Wade was no longer protecting him. Next time he crossed F-Stop's path, he feared he might not live through it. Not being able to talk to his family about it, he called Richie over to talk about his new problem, but after several hours of combined worrying, the only solution they were able to come up with was for Virgil to never leave home again, which, due to the fact that school didn't end for a month, simply wasn't feasible. Still, Richie remained optimistic, something Virgil found both annoying and strange.

"Man, Rich, what's up with you?" he asked after his friend had given him a particularly outrageous suggestion. "Last night, you were concerned for my safety, now I'm in real trouble, and you keep joking!" "I'm sorry, V, I feel good today. Guess what?"

"I don't know, what? Did Coach finally let you on the soccer team? Because I promise I'll be there to watch your game."

"You think I could make it?"

"Definitely, from what I heard, there are still a few spots on the bench that haven't been filled yet."

"Man, whatever. Actually, I finally got that girl from Zoology class to talk to me-I got her number, and she called me last night."

"Really? What'd she say?"

"Oh, we just talked about school and stuff. But I think she likes me."

"Yeah, right. And then you woke up. Can we get out of dreamland and come back to reality, please? Or am I going to have to stay home for the rest of my life? If that's the best thing we can come up with, I might as well just join Witness Protection."

"But you aren't a witness to anything."

"I know that, so what am I going to do? The "stay home" plan isn't really possible until summer break."

"You could wear a disguise."

"How am I supposed to do that? I don't have a bunch of disguises just hanging in my closet. Getting some would require me going outside, and if I felt safe doing that, I wouldn't need any. Got any more bright ideas? Or do you just happen to have a bunch of disguises lying around at your place?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"So you think I could just waltz into school with a mask and a costume on and nobody will suspect a thing? Come on, man, really?"

"Okay, okay, I was just saying. I mean, it's an option. Look, there's no easy way out of this, so I'll tell you what. I can't fight worth anything, but I'll do my best to have your back. Then, at least, if you get in trouble, we'll get busted up together. Deal?"

"Deal." Virgil said, giving Richie a high-five. "You're the best, man."

"Hey, what are friends for?"


	6. Dee

Francis finally stopped walking when he arrived at his crew's hideout, an abandoned warehouse. This was where they went to hang out, or to meet for a throw down or some other gang-related event. Now, he felt, he was spending a lot of time there alone. He got like this sometimes, dissatisfied with everyone and everything he had done, and usually he would just punch his way out of it. But it was the weekend. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to get back to school. He looked around at the dimly lit warehouse. Several of their possessions lay around in the main room, some belonging to them, but mostly stolen or scavenged. Francis sat down on a ratty couch underneath one of the warehouse's large, grimy windows and looked around. This was his and his crew's home away from home. They had almost everything there-a TV (stolen) the couch, several mismatched chairs, two mattresses, and several other small trinkets, most of which Francis had bullied out of freshmen. There were iPods, mp3 players, flash drives, disposable cell phones, a magnifying glass, and money. Francis wasn't sure how much, but it was the product of 2 and a half years' worth of bullying. He and his crew all had a portion of the money, but most of it belonged to him, and he had more at home-a collection of bullying, gift cash, and mainly out-of school thievery. None of them having a job, they never really had anything to do, so at least one banger would be inside most of the time on any given day. Francis waited around, knowing someone would come around sooner or later…and they did, but it definitely wasn't who he was expecting.

Being as feared as he was nice, the solitude was what he wanted, he had thought, but it was awfully lonely to have only a bunch of gangbangers to talk to. He couldn't risk being seen as weak, and it irritated him that he felt that way. This was what he was thinking over when he heard the door to the old warehouse open. He looked up, not sure of who to expect, but who should walk in but Dee. He'd never invited her here. How did she find him? She walked over him and sat in his lap.

"Why are you here?" he asked. She kissed him on the forehead.

"I wanted to see you. Why else?"

"No, I mean how did you get here? You've never been here with me."

"I saw you walk past my house. I followed you here."

"You know that makes you a stalker, right?" Francis had always suspected Dee wasn't quite right in the head. Still, she was good looking to him and fun to be around. Today she was wearing a tight tan miniskirt and a dark red crop top with fringe on it. Her hair was mostly its usual black, but today was bleached blonde in streaks and dyed red in others. She saw him looking and said, "Do you like it? I did it for you."

"Umm…well…"

The truth was, he did kind of like it. But the fact that she had purposely dressed as much like him as possible was slightly creepy.

"Never mind," she said, putting a hand on his chest, "I thought you looked sad. So I came to cheer you up..." She kissed him, and he could taste her bubblegum flavored lip-gloss. And she proceeded to do what she said she would, then she left.

Francis wasn't depressed anymore. In fact, it was nice to see her outside the glitter and noise of some basement party. He wanted to see her again…at a movie, maybe?

It was a nice thing to think about.


End file.
